


Pictures of You

by notoriously



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Fluff, Internet Boyfriends, Multi, Online Relationship, Online Romance, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoriously/pseuds/notoriously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein's life contains little of note. He lives with a couple of roommates, one of whom is annoying as the day is long, and he's got a lousy job and an equally as lousy blog. Marco Bodt's life, halfway across the country, also contains little of note, but his roommates are significantly less annoying and he really does love the job he's got at the little bookstore down the road. And really, nothing should connect the two of them - but it does, and they do connect - and it all starts with a picture. </p><p>JeanMarco, Modern!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically I knew that I wanted to write up a Modern!AU for Jean and Marco because they're dorks that own my soul and lovely peptalkrobodt over on Tumblr threw a bunch of ideas at me and got be totally hooked on the idea of internet boyfriends and so here we are
> 
> So yeah. The first couple of chapters are sort of setting the scene, I guess - I have a lot of trouble with my plots moving too fast so I sort of have to force myself to slow down in places. Updates will probably be sporadic and chapters will be about 3000 words and up, I hope!

_It’s funny how you’ve got to experience losing something – or nearly losing it – before you realise just how much it means to you._

_I learned today that life is fleeting. That the very essence of what we are can be taken away in a second, as if it never mattered. And really, the question is, does it matter at all?_

“That’s fuckin’ pretentious, even for you.”

“How about you just _go fuck yourself_ , Eren?” the man replied, moving one hand from the keyboard he was typing away at to quickly flip the other off, to which he replied with the same gesture in turn.

“Ah, well. Gotta pad out your actual writing with conceited bullshit sometimes, don’t ya?”

Jean Kirschstein managed to simultaneously set his laptop down on the desk and swing himself around on the swivel chair he’d had himself parked in for the last hour with seeming ease. However, the whole planned punch to Eren Jaeger’s gut hadn’t gone too well, and the shorter brunet had managed to bound over the back of the couch before Jean had gotten to his feet. He glared over the well-worn couch to see the other, crouched down beside the coffee table with a hand over his mouth, desperately trying not to let his laughter break through.

“You could _try_ to be less of an asshole, Eren, really,” Jean seethed, and Eren just rolled his eyes and stood himself up, manoeuvring around the edge of the couch and back over to the side Jean was on, and he was met with a swift punch in the arm. Shooting a glare up at Jean, he pushed past him to make his way into the dingy little kitchen-slash-dining room which really wasn’t big enough for the apartment’s three inhabitants.

“Hey, I get to be an asshole. I was out making actual money today while I bet you sat here blogging for hours,” he called out, to which Jean scoffed, sitting himself back down and poising hands at the keyboard.

“That’s a lie. I – I made food, too.”

“What an achievement, Jean. I’m proud of you, really.”

“Ah, fuck you. It’s my day off, I can do what I want,” he replied. Eren knew full well it was his day off – it was how they’d met, in actual fact – they both worked at a diner a couple of blocks away that was almost as dingy as their apartment. Jean had needed somewhere to live and Eren and his best friend couldn’t quite afford a place on their own, so when Eren realised this new guy at work needed a place to live they worked something out.

This was before Jean had quite realised just how annoying Eren Jaeger was, but before he could do anything about it, he also realised just how hot his other best friend was, and plus, it was a place to stay while he tried to figure out what the ever living fuck he wanted to do with his life. He’d gone into college straight out of high school, studying literature. But he’d gotten into the class and realised it was boring as batshit and that he really couldn’t be bothered anymore. But nevertheless, he bummed around for a semester, drinking, partying and banging chicks (and he thinks a couple of guys in there too – those months were a blur, man) before becoming a college dropout and more or less being out on his ass. But he managed to get the aforementioned job and this place, so he was pretty steady for the time being.

Jean gave a sigh as he furiously tapped at the backspace key, deleting that pretentious, conceited bullshit and resigning himself to the fact that he was going post a third picture of himself in as many days and that he really didn’t care that much. It was his blog, he could do what he wanted and he’d post pictures of his face until he decided he wanted to stop. Or until what came out of his head and onto the screen wasn’t conceited or… whatever.

 Jean pushed himself out of his seat, heading over to the bathroom via the kitchen doorway, in which he stuck his head.

“Oi. Armin bringing home food or what?”

“Isn’t it your turn to make dinner?”

“No, it’s my turn to do dishes,” Jean clarified, and Eren shot him back a dubious look.

“Lemme check the roster, then,” he remarked, lowly sauntering around to the opposite side of the refrigerator, searching for the crudely drawn timetable the three of them had drawn up to pretend there was a modicum of organisation in the dump they called an apartment.

“God, hurry up,” Jean whined, to which Eren replied with a glare as he tugged the roster from the fridge.

“You in a rush or somethin’, Kirschstein?”

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” he remarked, and Eren rolled his eyes.

“I swear to god, if you’re in there taking selfies for forty-five minutes like you were the other week I’m gonna end yo-“

“Just read the fucking roster,” Jean hissed. Eren laughed and let his eyes flick down to the worn piece of paper, clicking his tongue a couple of times as he found the day.

“Ah, yeah, it is Armin’s turn, my bad,” Eren mused, and Jean sighed dramatically, arms folding.

“I told you. Give him a call or something, see what’s happening – usually he’s home by this point,” and with that, Jean went to round the corner. But Eren called out again, Jean giving a melodramatic sigh as he walked back into the kitchen.

“What?” he sighed, and Eren rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I won’t tell you you’re on to work tomorrow. Get fired, see if I care!” Eren replied, and Jean groaned.

“What? I’m not supposed to work tomorrow! I’ve got a whole day planned!”

“What, of blogging?” Eren asked, and Jean rolled his eyes.

“No, I just – god, what shift?”

“You gotta open, you’re on ‘til noon.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna get all the obnoxious men in suits asking for their fancy ass breakfast orders, aren’t I?” Jean asked, and Eren gave a small nod.

“Sorry, dude,” he said, almost begrudgingly. Jean sighed and shrugged.

“We need the money, it’s alright. I’ll live,” Jean remarked – shit, that was just about as civil as Eren and Jean got – and he rounded the corner again to make a beeline for the bathroom. And really, it was as clean as you’d expect from three twenty-something males living in an apartment with only one bathroom – actually, it might have been a little cleaner than one would expect. But the clutter was everywhere, and it was mostly Jean’s, because apparently there were no bounds to how many hair products one man was allowed to own.

The ritual for taking gratuitous pictures of one’s self in the bathroom was a simple, tried-and-tested one – clear as much shit out of the view of the camera and out of the reflection in the mirror and you’re good. Also, make sure there’s nothing incriminating behind you and always, always wear pants. Jean had long since mastered this sacred art and was moving pots of hair gel and _what the ever-living fuck is that god I don’t even want to know_ out of the way.

As Jean was busily trying to make himself look half-decent in a tiny cluttered bathroom, the third of the inhabitants of the apartment clambered in, perpetually oversized looking backpack slung over one shoulder, pizza box balanced precariously on one hand and a raven-haired woman in tow.

“Eren, could you – _gah_ – could you give us a hand?” Armin called out. Eren made his way back out of the kitchen and wandered over to the two at the door.

“Oh, look who finally decided to visit,” Eren glanced over at Mikasa who gave a rather blank roll of the eyes. He laughed in response, and he took the two pizza boxes out of her hands.

“I figured if I got extra, we’d have leftovers, and that’s not a bad thing, right?” Armin asked, and Eren gave a nod before swivelling around to face the bathroom door, chuckling under his breath and letting a smirk stretch across his face.

“Watch this,” his voice was a low murmur before he cleared his throat and called out, “Hey, Jean, Armin’s home!”

“ _Yeah, cool, hey, Armin!_ ”

The smirk on Eren’s face only widened before he spoke again. “Mikasa’s here too!”

The clattering was heard almost instantaneously, the door bursting open only seconds later, and the look on Jean’s face could only be described as… constipated, maybe? It was obvious he was making an effort to look charming and suave, but… that wasn’t working too well.

“A-Ah, Mikasa, it’s… it’s good to see you,” he smiled, and Eren was laughing so hard by this point that he let out an unceremonious snort.

“Oh, fuck off, Eren,” Jean groaned, eyes widening at the sudden realisation that he’d just sworn in front of Mikasa, sweet Mikasa, totally bodacious Mikasa – and it seemed that Mikasa had realised too. She responded with an almost derisive laugh, wandering over to sit herself down on the couch with all the grace of a swan.

“Nice to see you too, Jean.” Ah, the voice was music to Jean’s ears, so much so that he didn’t notice Eren snickering in the corner of the room for a moment. But he did notice eventually, and he rolled his eyes and flipped off Eren for the second time in about twenty minutes as he rounded the couch to return to his laptop.

“Oh, come on, Jean, do you have to be so cruel?” the ever familiar and ever fuckin’ annoying Eren asked.  Jean’s answer to the question was a highly unamused grunt as he sat himself back in the swivel chair, pulling his laptop to rest on his thighs and kicking his heels up to rest on the desk, ankles crossed.

“Oh, shit, he’s gotta update his blog or the world’s gonna fuckin’ end,” Eren snorted, “we’ll wait for you, shall we?”

Jean decided to be the bigger person (he was sure that got him some sort of existential brownie points) and reached over to pull a cord out of the desk drawer, plugging one end into the laptop and the other into his phone, letting the other three talk and get dinner organised as he picked the best out of the copious amounts of selfies he took in the bathroom to upload. Ah, well, if those who kept track of his blog hadn’t worked out that he posted a lot of pictures of his own face then they weren’t ever going to get it.

“Your dinner’s gonna get cold, Jean, come on!” Armin called, and Jean sighed, shutting the laptop and setting in back upon the desk

Armin was certainly the friendlier and less abrasive of Jean’s two roommates – Jean didn’t meet him until the day they moved in, and by this point he’d only been working with and thus known Eren for about a month, so it was miraculous this arrangement had lasted almost nine months already and didn’t appear to be changing any time soon. Armin was in college and Eren was looking to do the same thing, and maybe Jean would get around to it. Maybe. He wasn’t sure, and right now he was happy supporting himself by flipping burgers at an awful diner and trying to look cool in front of his roommates’ hot friend.

But yes, Armin was the little genius of the three of them, and he did all the finances and taxes and… stuff. Eren and Jean stayed out of that; they trusted Armin to have it covered. And he’d done so – they hadn’t had their electricity or gas cut off, so they listened to Armin when he shouted at them to try to use less electricity and stop taking half-hour showers because he knew that at least twenty of those minutes were dedicated to something the exact opposite to getting clean. And really, they couldn’t deny that one.

“Alright, coming,” he muttered, and he pushed himself up from the seat to wander over to the small kitchen table – ah, of course they’d left him the half broken seat. One of the legs came off and they’d tried to fix it one weekend (yeah, it took the whole weekend) and all they’d managed to do was remove two of the other legs in before they haphazardly reattached the other one, so now three of the legs were wobbly as hell but they were too cheap to go out and buy another table and chairs. Plus, all of that sort of stuff came in flat-pack these days and they were sure trying to assemble that would end up with one or more of them getting murdered, so that wasn’t really something on the cards.

“Busy day at work today, Eren?” asked Armin, to which Eren gave a small grunt and shrug.

“Not really,” he swallowed the food he had in his mouth as Jean was still trying desperately to navigate the wonky chair – he didn’t want to fall on his ass in front of Mikasa, that was for sure. “Little busy for a Wednesday, but Wednesdays are usually super slow so it wasn’t that busy in the scheme of things.”

“True, true. Jean, you?” Armin asked, but before Jean could even speak Eren leant in and smirked.

“Oh, he had a very busy day blogging,” he remarked, and Jean gave him a swift kick to the shin under the table.

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t do much today, so what. Apparently I gotta open the diner tomorrow so, y’know, lucky I lazed about today,” he remarked, eyes narrowed at the brunet who was scowling at him, rubbing at his shin, “what about you?”

“Ah, okay,” Armin nodded, “well, my morning class didn’t start until fifteen minutes after it was supposed to, so that put me behind for my study date, which was kind of disappointing.”

“Do study dates still mean what they meant in high school?” Jean butted in, leaning forward onto his elbows, and Armin furrowed his eyebrows.

“Uh… they mean studying-“

“Don’t pull that, study date means makin’ out at the back of the library. Even you know that, Armin.”

“No, we really studied… for almost the whole hour,” he swallowed thickly, to which Jean smirked, taking another bite of the slice of pizza he held before going back to berating Armin.

“Most of the hour, huh? Who’d you study with, then?” Armin averted his eyes, ducking his head.

“Her name’s Annie,” he mumbled, and Jean grinned.

“Ah, Armin totally pulled, I –“ Jean leant forward to give Armin a friendly, attaboy slap on the arm. But he shifted his weight to one of the wobbly legs of the chair and went crashing to his knees, head smacking forward into the corner of the table.

“Fuck!” was the first eloquent word to leave his mouth, and Armin gasped as the first thing he saw was blood.

“Uh – I ca – I feel a little light-headed, I can’t-“ Armin didn’t do well with blood, and he felt himself getting woozy, gripping the edge of the table, so Mikasa got herself up and put her arm under Jean’s shoulders, helping him to his feet.

“Come and sit down,” she told him, watching as he squinted and brought his palm up to press over the rather nasty gash on his forehead, “Eren, do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, I think so – god, you’re so clumsy, Jean,” Eren sighed.

“Fuck off,” he spat, easing himself down on the couch and glancing over at the veritable guardian angel in the form of Mikasa Ackerman. He gave her a distant smile, to which she gave nothing in return but a quick swipe of the antiseptic wipe she’d retrieved from the first aid kit Eren had gotten her. Jean hissed and Mikasa clicked her tongue.

“Be a man, Kirschstein,” she almost smiled, and that was completely enough for him to smile and man up, steeling himself for the next couple of stinging assaults on the cut.

“I don’t think you’re going to need stitches, personally,” she said – Jean had no idea what Mikasa was doing with her life or whether it would equip her to know whether or not he’d need stitches, but he was sure she knew what she was doing. More than the dumbass Eren or the fainting wonder Armin would, anyway. She took out some plain gauze and something that looked like athletic tape, placing the gauze right over the cut and sticking it down.

“There you go. I think you’re going to live,” she remarked, and Jean sunk into the couch, frowning a couple of times to try and loosen up the stickiness on his forehead.

“Thanks, Mikasa,” he remarked, “no thanks to you, Jaeger.”

“Oh, screw you, I found the fist aid kid. You could be bleeding out without my hel-“

“Could we stop talking about blood, we’re going to make Armin pass out.” Mikasa glanced over to the pallid-faced male still holding onto the edge of the table, and Eren winced a fraction.

“Sorry about that, bud,” he managed, and Armin nodded, which was obviously a mistake when the last of the colour drained from his face.

“Shit. Come on, why don’t you go and lie down?” Eren asked, going over to help Armin up and off to his room. He staggered off, leaving Jean and Mikasa on the couch. Jean gave a sigh and was about to speak when a noise left his laptop. He moved to get up but Mikasa got up before he could, wandering over to and opening the laptop.

“What is it?” Jean asked, and Mikasa refreshed the page.

“I think someone just liked your selfie. Nice,” Mikasa gave as close to a smirk as Jean had ever seen, and he gave a smirk and a shrug in return.

“What can I say? I’ve got a nice face,” he chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, next chapter we're gonna introduce Marco and then I promise things will actually happen and start making sense, here's hoping!
> 
> If you want to contact me, you can do so here: http://freckledjustice.tumblr.com
> 
> Until next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a little note here -- all the chapters are going to begin with some sort of blog entry from Jean (unless otherwise stated) and so that's just what it is at the beginning of this chapter. That was all!

_Alright, so I **was** gonna write up a little something here for you all tonight, **but** the dickheaded wonder came along and told me what I had was pretentious and shit. So, basically, you’re gonna get a picture of my face._

_I swear one day I’ll actually write something of worth here. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe if someone sends my roommate on an extended (or maybe even permanent) vacation then I can post something other than a selfie._

* * *

“Yo, Marco!”

Hey there, Connie,” the freckled man gave a smirk and a small wave to his roommate, who was strewn across the couch and nearly lying on the coffee table,  so very into his video game that Marco Bodt was surprised he’d even gotten a greeting, “Where’s Sasha?”

“Sasha’s here!” a voice crowed, and Marco went and dumped his satchel on the chair opposite Connie before poking his hear in the kitchen to see Sasha beside the stove. He smirked and wandered over to her, resting his elbow on her shoulder.

”I thought it was Connie’s turn to make dinner?”

“Ah, he’s, uh,” Sasha’s eyebrows furrowed and a small smirk appeared on her face, “he’s pretty persuasive.”

“Hell yeah, I’m persuasive,” Connie chortled, and Marco sighed, hand coming up to cover his face.

“Are you – you’re blushing! Oh, Marco, baby,” Sasha laughed, to which Marco only shook his head.

“I’m not blushing! I just think it’s not fair that I don’t have anyone who I can swap chores with for sexual favours, is all.”

“Oh, come on, Marco, I’m sure eventually you’ll find someone to blow to get out of doin’ the dishes,” Connie called back. Marco narrowed his eyes and chanced a glance at Sasha, who was trying desperately not to laugh.

“… Thanks, I think,” Marco smirked and rolled his eyes, and Sasha let her hand rest at the small of his back for a moment as she shifted around him.

“He means well, you know that,” she smiled, and Marco nodded.

“Yeah, I know he does,” he gave a smile and rubbed at the back of his neck before letting his hands clasp in front of him, “uh, do you need any help?”

“No, no, I’m fine, go sit down! You’ve been at work all day!” Sasha grabbed a tea towel and flicked it at Marco, a stricken look playing about his face.

“Alright, alright! You don’t have to resort to violence!” he chuckled, leaving the kitchen and wandering around to the living room, moving his satchel down beside the chair to park himself on it.

“Work busy today?” Connie asked, and Marco shook his head, leaning over the side of the chair to fish his clunky old laptop out of his bag.

“Nah, it was pretty quiet,” he opened the laptop and it let out a loud whir. Connie rolled his eyes.

“You gotta get yourself a new laptop, man,” he mused, and Marco sighed.

“I know I should, but, I mean, this one still _works,_ so… there’s no rush, really,” Marco sighed, tapping away at the old keyboard, typing in his password.

“Fair enough. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?” Connie asked, and Marco shrugged and nodded.

“Connie, have you set the table yet? Don’t forget Ymir and Christa are coming over, so you’ve gotta set five places,” Sasha called, and Connie groaned, pausing his game and switching the television off.

“Hey, Marco, could you grab the place mats down? I – uh, I can’t exactly…”

“Reach them?” Marco’s smirk was a little too wide for him not to be rubbing his height in, and Connie groaned as the other set his laptop down and wandered over to him.

“Yeah, yeah, just get ‘em for me, Gigantor,” Connie gave a scowl and Marco only laughed, retrieving said placemats from where they could have only put by himself, as opposed to his two shorter roommates. He set five of them down around the table and sighed. He really did love his roommates, as he did Ymir and Christa, but these bi-weekly dinners with two couples didn’t do much to quell the ever present knowledge Marco held that he was single as could be.

After his last relationship ended badly (see: catching his proclaimed _totally_ _100% gay_ boyfriend in bed with a woman) Marco hadn’t cared that he was single. He relished in it, really. He was content with his roommates (who weren’t together at that point, but Sasha and Connie were those friends who you just _knew_ were going to get together – it was a matter of when over if. They had bets going and Christa _totally_ cleaned up ) and his life for a long time, and really, he still was. But it didn’t mean that he couldn’t want the companionship that the four people he spent the most time around had.

However, after a long day of work, seeing his four friends was certainly something to look forward to.

“Yo, Sash, do you want the bowls out on the placemats so we get our own food or are you gonna serve it all up beforehand?”

“Uh… No, it’s easier if people get their own, right? Then they can’t complain at me for giving them too much or not enough. So yeah, set the bowls out, babe.”

Despite his slight distaste at being single, Marco couldn’t help but smile at the little flecks of domesticity encroaching their way into Sasha and Connie’s relationship. It was cute, _they_ were cute, and most of all, they didn’t rub their relationship in Marco’s face, which was a good. They’d been there through the highs and lows and Marco wouldn’t give them up for the world, really.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and Marco wandered over to open it, and a short blonde and tall brunette stood before him, as he’d expected.

“Christa, Ymir!” he chimed, almost ever-present smile on his face. Christa smiled and wrapped her arms around Marco, and Ymir gave a curt nod.

“Ah, how have you been, sweetness?” Christa asked, swivelling around Marco and into the apartment.

“Good, good, yeah. Nothing of note to report,” he shrugged, letting Ymir in and shutting the door behind them.

“Ah, no news is good news,” she smiled, and she greeted the other two in the apartment. Marco turned to Ymir and let his arms settle across his chest.

“And how have you been?” he asked, cheerfully, to which the female shrugged.

“Alright,” she deadpanned – Marco used to be a little worried at the way Ymir spoke, but he’d long since gotten used to it, “nothing much going on, so, y’know.” Marco nodded at her response and offered her another smile before ducking back into the kitchen with Sasha.

“Oh, come on, Marco, surely you can go socialise a little.”

“I could, but I don’t wanna leave you in the lurch. Surely I can help with _something,_ ” he almost pleaded, widening big brown eyes at the young woman. She clicked her eyes and sighed.

“Marco, there’s nothing to do. I’ve got it, really. You’re all good, off you go, sit yourself down!” Small hands came up to press against Marco’s shoulder blades and Sasha all but shoved him out of the kitchen, grasping his shoulder as she clicked her fingers to catch Christa’s eye.

“Whatever you do, make sure Marco stays sat down, alright?” she asked, and Christa smiled that almost saccharine-sweet smile, taking Marco’s wrist and giving Sasha a curt nod.

“Alright, come on, Marco, talk to me,” Christa grinned and tugged Marco around to sit on the high-backed chair, sitting on the one across from him and scooting herself forward.

“What do you want me to talk about, Christa?” Marco asked, to which Christa raised her eyebrows and sat back on her chair, giving a sigh. There was a silence, and in that silence Marco briefly considered staying defiant against what Christa was insinuating. It wasn’t that it bothered him, but… maybe he’d change it up a little. Stop being ever-pliable Marco and be a little… braver.

But _god_ if the look on Christa’s face didn’t have him crumbling. He gave a sigh just as she had moments before.

“… Still no boyfriend.”

The look on Christa’s face wasn’t quite one of disappointment, but she did look slightly deflated. And Marco knew that it was only because she wanted him to be happy like she was with Ymir.

“Ah, that’s a real shame,” she leant forward on the table, Ymir seating herself silently beside her as a grin spread across her face, “you know what the three of us should do?”

“Christa, _no—_ “

“Oh, but, Marco, it’ll be fun! Really!”

“Christa, you said that last time!”

“And it was fun, wasn’t it?”

“I _still_ don’t remember _what happened!_ ”

“Yeah, see? Fun!”

The incident in question was one about six months ago, a little while after the whole boyfriend incident, and Christa had somehow convinced Marco to go out (it really was one _hell_ of a pap talk that she gave him) with her and Ymir, and they’d managed to get him pretty drunk before they _dared_ mention hitting a gay bar, and sober Marco would have run miles from the mere _notion_ of that – _but,_ being drunk as he was, that sounded like a swell idea.

And it had been! It was fun and _controllable_ until Ymir and Christa found out that Marco was a flirty drunk. A _very_ flirty drunk. And a drunk that liked to strip. And sing. _Very_ loudly and not very _well._

Long story short, Marco came home pantsless and singing. Ymir and Christa vowed not to tell him what he did, that he couldn’t handle it. They agreed that Marco wouldn’t take it well if he knew about the guy he called _a hot hunk o’ man_ about six times in a span of about twenty minutes. Drunk ignorance is bliss, they’d decided, for Marco.

“Thanks for the offer, but I just… I don’ t know. I don’t think going out is my _thing,_ ” Marco admitted, and to his genuine surprise, Christa sighed and nodded. Had he – had he seriously won this little thing they had going?

“Doesn’t really surprise me. You have reading glasses and I know you own at _least_ three sweater vests.”

“What?” That was a lie – he only had _two_ now, he had to throw one out – but that wasn’t the point! “What does that have to do with me not wanting to go out?”

“Nothing, sweetheart, maybe you’re just a little more… _sedate_ now. You _are_ a year older than all of us.”

“… That doesn’t make me a senior citizen, Christa.”

“True. Senior citizens don’t stand on bars and belt ou—“

“ _That’s_ quite enough, oh my god, please don’t,” Marco was half-begging, half-laughing – he was aware of _some_ of the things he’d done on the night in question earlier, and impromptu bar karaoke to a song that was totally different to the one that was playing was one of them.

“Oh, you know it’s only ‘cause I love you, Marco,” she smiled, swivelling around to sit forward at the table as Sasha came out bearing a large and almost overfull dish of pasta.

“Are we feeding the boy scouts too, or…?”

Sasha set the dish down before coming back to flick Connie in the back of  the skull, after wich he ducked his head and rubbed at the spot, grin plastered across his face.

“You’re the who loves the leftovers, Connie.”

“I don’t love them _that much,_ Sash.”

“Don’t gimme that, you totally do!”

“Is it always like living with an old married couple, or what, Marco?” Christa asked the freckled man, band she got three sets of eyes back on her – Marco’s, along with those of the _old married couple_ who had stopped their bickering.

“We’re not like an old married couple!” Sasha exclaimed.

“You are, a litt—“

“Could we just maybe eat?” Marco interjected, and an air of agreement settled over the table.

Dinner went off as well as one could have expected it to, Connie coming up with _every_ non-dinner-appropriate story he’d apparently gathered from the last two weeks and telling them over dinner. And slowly but surely, the five of them shifted over to the living room – Connie had parked himself back n front of his game console, Ymir joining him soon after (and she was _totally_ kicking his ass), and Sasha, Christa and Marco were making general conversation, Marco with his clunky old computer perched on his knees.

“You’ve really gotta get—“

“Get a new computer? It still works, I can’t just get rid of Old Faithful, now, can I?” Marco asked, and Christa sighed and sat back on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her and resting against Ymir, who was doing a spectacular job of multitasking – she was paying attention to Christa but she was still playing the game – and _still_ kicking Connie’s ass.

“Ooh! By the way, Sasha!”

Marco took that as a cue that he could return to his computer – and return to his computer he did.

And _holy shit_ that was an _attractive man._

The words he’d put with the photo had Marco smirking, but the picture had him _gawking._ It was obviously taken in a tiny little bathroom and probably at short notice but _damn_ , if he didn’t take a good picture. It probably helped that he had a really good face… and a really good set of arms… and shoulders… and _everything visible in the photo._

Apparently Marco wasn’t being quite as subtle as he’d liked to have believe, and he was maybe a little _too_ immersed in the whole situation as, before he realised what was going on, Christa had all but draped herself over his shoulder, chorusing an “ _Ooh,_ _cute_ ” in Marco’s ear.

“What are you doing?”

“We came over to see what you were _grinning_ at,” a voice chorused in the man’s other ear, and his head whipped around to see Sasha, leaning in and trying to get a better look at the male on the dimply lit screen, “… wow, she’s right. He _is_ cute.”

“Did you think I’d be wrong?”

“I thought it was possible, seeing as you’ve got a girlfriend and everything.”

“Yeah, well, _still._ That’s a _cute_ guy and look, Marco’s _totally_ smitten.”

“I’m not _smitten!_ ” came the freckled man’s quickfire response, “you can’t be _smitten_ with a picture.”

“Well,” Sasha leant over, elbow resting on Marco’s shoulder, “do you think he’s cute?”

 “I think he looks like a horse.”

When the _hell_ did Connie pry himself away from his game to poke his nose into everything.

“He does not, Connie! So, Marco, cute, yes or no?” Sasha came up to push herself onto the tips of her toes, grasping the back of the chair.

The silence was all Christa needed, and she brought a hand down on Marco’s shoulder, smile spreading across her face.

“Alright, then, you know what we’re gonna do?” she asked. Marco’s dark eyes went _wide_ and he opened his mouth to speak. What were they going to do, huh? The odds were the cutie lived thousands of miles away, so he really couldn’t tell what Christa’s plan was, and –

He _really_ needed to quit daydreaming. Because his laptop was down on the coffee table and Sasha and Christa were tugging him out of the seat.

“What are we _doing?_ ”

“You’re gonna take a picture like computer cutie, that’s what.”

“What? No!” Marco exclaimed, but Sasha and Christa both frowned at him. Oh, god, that wasn’t _fair_ , they weren’t allowed to guilt him into it!

God, sometimes he wished he were less of a pushover.

The heaving, exasperated sigh he gave had the women either side of him grinning, and they wandered him into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

Bathrooms were something of a universal selfie haven, and where _computer cutie’s_ bathroom was tiny and cramped, this bathroom wasn’t. It was pretty clean and organised, things in cabinets and nothing suspicious looking lurking in any nooks or crannies.

“Alright, gimme a sec,” Sasha reached around to try and fish her phone from her pocket, and Christa was currently on her tiptoes in front of Marco. She licked her fingertips and ran her fingers through the freckled man’s hair, to which he frowned.

“Let me work my magic, Marco, I—“

“Are you saying I’m not attractive enough as I am?”

There was a pause. A scowl graced the blonde woman’s angelic features and Marco _knew_ he’d won this little interaction.

“Alright, come on,” Christa moved back behind Sasha, who over her arm up to hold her camera a little above eye level. And Marco just sort of… _stood there._

But Sasha knew how to coax a smile out of the other, and she glanced over the phone to smirk at him, waggling her eyebrows. Marco was startled for a second, but a smile was starting to creep its way onto his face.

“C’mon, Bodt, gimme _sexy,”_ she grinned, and the al-out smile broke out on Marco’s face along with a mirthful laugh (everyone was in agreement about Marco’s laugh – it was delightful and if you could make the guy laugh you were going to be rewarded). His laugh was punctuated by the sound of Sasha’s camera going off,  and Christa peered around Sasha in order to try and see the picture.

“Ooh, that’s _nice,_ ” she smiled up at Marco and he sighed, letting himself fall to habit for a moment and biting at his lip. Say that computer cutie _did_ see the picture – what did it matter? Nothing, surely. This didn’t mean anything, he could calm down.

“Come on, put it up, computer cutie might _see_ it!” Sasha thrust her phone Marco’s way, and he sighed.

_Doesn’t mean anything. Just do it, amuse them._

“Alright, I’m going,” he remarked, giving them both a smile before exiting the bathroom with them in tow. He sat himself down and, after much fumbling around for cords and the like, managed to upload the photo with the caption: T _wo girls and a guy walk into a bathroom. You’d think this was a joke but really, they just took pictures of me and want me to show you, so… here we are._

“You done, Marco? We’re gonna watch a movie, we’ve gotta work out what we wanna watch.” The voice was Sasha’s, and Marco glanced up at her and nodded.

“Okay, two seconds,” Marco remarked quickly, scrolling back down the page and catching another sight of computer cutie (from the second of blogging he’d done after uploading his own picture, he’d found out from his blog that his name was _Jean_ – that wounded pretty exotic).

Liking the selfie was the last thing he did before shutting his laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have Marco!
> 
> Once again, if you want to contact me, I'm over on tumblr as freckledjustice. 
> 
> Maybe things that are plot-relevant will happen next chapter, wouldn't that be nice? No but seriously things will happen, I promise you all.


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